


Little Things

by wigglebox



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Realization, Sharing a Bed, Took a couple thousand years but he got it in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: I've never written a fic so fast after watching a show before -- oops! I haven't read the book yet, so this is based on the show + what little quotes and characterizations I read online from the book. My biggest wish is that everything sounded in character.I also read somewhere someone saying the two got a cottage or something in the end and, even if I couldn't find that exact quote from the authors, I just went with it.If you see any errors, please let me know! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!





	Little Things

It was the little things — it was always the little things. 

When created in a vast space of nothing, nothing to look at and hardly anything to touch, the little things were treasured. When you lived for thousands of years and have seen all manner of human activity, the little things helped create the memories that Aziraphale carried at all times. 

A new little thing was looking up out of the kitchen window and seeing Crowley hunched over the flower beds in the back garden, surrounded by colors that stood out against the wardrobe of black. Aziraphale expected wings to come out to protect Crowley from the sun, but they never came. Not like Crowley could get burned anyway. 

Aziraphale knew that Crowley talked to the plants, but in the past, he didn’t speak with kindness. But now, on the nice days when Aziraphale had the window opened, he could hear the hushed conversation with the flora. Muttered words of encouragement, astonishment on a good grow, and sometimes, little conversations of day-to-day life or a story from one of their adventures centuries ago. 

Another little thing was Crowley stopped wearing his sunglasses around Aziraphale whilst in private. Aziraphale never had an issue with Crowley’s eyes and realized over the years that it was Crowley that wanted people to stay calm about it, and maybe hated them himself. But now, around the cottage and around Aziraphale, Crowley kept his sunglasses off. 

A little thing that was a wonderful surprise was Crowley, working with hand tools, converting the back garden shed to a small study for Aziraphale. They even went out and purchased books (not spawning them out of the matter around them) to fill the shelves, which made Aziraphale smile. The night they finished, they stayed in there, lounging in the leather chairs and getting absolutely sloshed. They laughed more, post-attempted Apocalypse, and it made Aziraphale warm from the tips of his fingers to his toes. 

Being the kind of non-human entities they were, Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t need to sleep. Sleeping wasn’t something that happened to them anyways, instead they just slipped into a ‘powered down’ state. It was similar to sleep, and felt just as nice afterward. Aziraphale knew Crowley made a habit of it in the past, but he himself saved it for rare, overwhelming occasions when he needed a break. 

Now, the little thing of ‘powering down’ almost every night in that cottage and waking up with the sun, and with Crowley next to him was one of Aziraphale’s favorite things, and it was on one cold morning in December when Aziraphale realized that he had been edging towards a cliff for decades, centuries even, that he was about to tumble over. 

Aziraphale admitted he wasn’t the quickest when processing non-urgent information. He knew that Crowley, at some point, started to see Aziraphale in a different light other than an enemy from above -- but Aziraphale couldn’t place when he started to feel the same way. 

The knowledge that Aziraphale had his own personal feelings shifting towards Crowley came around the turn of the 20th century with a certified _thud_ into the back of his mind. But, he kept it to himself the best he could. Over the decades, Aziraphale knew that Crowley could sense some of it, even teased every so often, but the conversation never came up. Not over dinner, lunches, brunches, midnight drinking sessions, or during any event that caused them to confront each other for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

The same level of existence that allowed them not to sleep also didn’t provide them with a blueprint for feelings of love and affection. Even worse for Crowley, having been an angel and then an agent of hell. Aziraphale didn’t know if what he felt was genuine, or if it was manufactured by centuries of being with humans. 

But, after recent events, Aziraphale realized that he and Crowley had blended with humans enough, after six thousand years, that any emotions or feelings were intertwined with their cosmic self. 

And Aziraphale had a suspicion that Crowley figured that out far faster than he did. 

But that one morning in December, months after the not-Apocalypse, Aziraphale woke to a cold cottage. They forgot to set the heat the night before (needing to have a thermostat since Crowley was now wary of a fire), and Aziraphale could feel the chill in his feet at the end of the bed. But, he wasn’t cold all over. 

Crowley, as some point, had turned over and moved as close as he could to Aziraphale, most likely to stay warm himself. It was still amazing how much they feel in a human form. Aziraphale wondered if their true selves were fusing with the human condition. 

The side of Aziraphale that was warm was also more sensitive, even though a nightshirt. Crowley had placed a hand on Aziraphale’s upper arm, and his head moved partially onto Aziraphale’s pillow, causing small puffs of air to hit the side of his neck. 

The little things. 

For some reason passing understanding, Aziraphale decided that this was the morning to reflect. His mind replayed all his little things over the past few months, then stretched into the past several years, decades, centuries, millennia -- 

Crowley had wanted Aziraphale to come with him back to the cosmos to save themselves, Crowley was the one who ran into a burning building looking for him, blew up a church to save him, always accompanied him when asked, questioned Hell constantly, bemoaned his role as a demon, and 

And

And had to slow down in order for Aziraphale to catch up. 

A wave of sadness washed over Aziraphale as he stared at the ceiling, his mind starting to work a mile a minute, now treating the situation as urgent. 

_You’re too fast for me_. 

But the truth was, Crowley wasn’t. He was patient, despite appearances, and allowed Aziraphale to figure it out on his own. The most infuriating thing was that Aziraphale _was_ there, or at least heading there, but didn’t recognize his surroundings and kept his guard up. 

Now, he was ready to tumble off the cliff. 

Without a word, and loathing to leave his position, Aziraphale slipped from the bed. His feet hit cold, hardwood floor and the sudden loss of warmth made him shiver. From the bed, Aziraphale heard the sheets and duvet rustle, and a frustrated groan. The thermostat was right outside the bedroom, and Aziraphale shuffled over to it and brought it up to 21°C, hearing the radiators kick on throughout the small space. 

Satisfied, and cold, Aziraphale turned back and saw Crowley laying on his back with an arm over his face, eye mask off and dangling loose in his hand. 

“I turned up the heat, should feel better soon,” Aziraphale said, keeping his voice hushed so not to disturb the early morning stillness. 

Crowley didn’t respond and didn’t move. Aziraphale slipped back into bed, under the warmth of the sheets and Crowley’s body heat. Instead of keeping a small distance between them, Aziraphale shifted as close as he could. Crowley lowered his arm and turned his head, a smirk already gracing his face. 

“Have a nightmare?” 

“Just the opposite,” Aziraphale responded, “The complete opposite.”

Crowley’s look of confusion at those words only lasted a moment as Aziraphale closed the space between them, his lips barely brushing against Crowley’s. It took a few shocked seconds as Crowley processed the situation before he moved, deepening the contact. Aziraphale allowed it, and for the first time, willingly and wholeheartedly let Crowley take over the situation, fully trusting him. Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale back onto the pillows, hovering over him with a hand in his hair, not breaking the contact. Aziraphale felt warmth spreading throughout his body, and let himself melt into the sheets below him. 

The broke apart momentarily but kept their faces close together. 

“Where did this come from?” Crowley asked, his voice barely discernible over their breathing. 

Aziraphale shook his head slightly, “I’ll explain later. Just keep going, please.”

Several millennia of waiting, several centuries of holding back -- all Aziraphale wanted to do now was make up for lost time. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a fic so fast after watching a show before -- oops! I haven't read the book yet, so this is based on the show + what little quotes and characterizations I read online from the book. My biggest wish is that everything sounded in character. 
> 
> I also read somewhere someone saying the two got a cottage or something in the end and, even if I couldn't find that exact quote from the authors, I just went with it. 
> 
> If you see any errors, please let me know! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
